


At Your Altar

by Dichotomous_Dragon



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Lovey-dovey sex, M/M, Prompt Fill, defiling the chantry, first-time smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:19:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4997533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dichotomous_Dragon/pseuds/Dichotomous_Dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian and Bull make love in the Chantry. Written for Wham-Splat-Porn for the lovely Little_Abyss's prompt, "religious experience."</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Your Altar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [little_abyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/gifts).



> Yeah so this is my first foray into smutty territory. I'd say be gentle but by all means, open fire if it merits it.
> 
> There is a bit of Canticle quoting and a Tolkien reference, of all things, but it fit, damnit.

Dorian was losing rather badly, as it turned out. Cullen was probably three moves from check and they both knew it. If he could just distract the smirking blond for a moment and swap his tower-- Two big hands falling onto his shoulders cut Dorian's musings short with a yelp.

" _Oh!_ " Dorian levitated in his seat only to hear a chorus of chuckles at his expense. "Andraste's blushing buttcheeks, you insufferable---!" he ended with a theatrical huff, shrugging free of the Bull's easy grip to turn and glare up at him.

"Such language, Serah Pavus!" Cullen remarked slyly, steepling his fingers and hiding his grin behind them. "One would think you should be praying to the Maker for assistance not blaspheming the name of his bride."

Bull leaned down, deep enough into Dorian's personal space that the mage felt his cheeks heat ever-so-slightly from the proximity alone. He could feel that wretched smirk on Bull's face as his lips, nearly pressed flush to Dorian's ear, parted and he whispered ever-so-sweetly:  
"He's right you know. You're getting your ass beat, kadan." It was not a whisper at all; Cullen heard every word and snorted.

"You are not helping!" Dorian hissed, statuesque features twisted up in profound distaste. The affront in his voice got another snicker out of Cullen and a full-on laugh from Bull. The rumble of the big man's voice in his chest was _not at all_ arousing.

"It's growing late," Cullen was still grinning, glancing up at the lengthening shadows in the courtyard. "I had best be getting back to my duties." He rose and stretched, clapping each of them on the shoulder in turn. "I trust you can remain...sufficiently occupied in my absence." Dorian waved him off; Bull laughed and gave him a hand up.

"What do you say, kadan?" he asked, grip lingering on Dorian's hip. The mage considered. Indeed, the garden was all but abandoned--it was likely time for dinner--and spurred by the warmth of Bull's hand on him, he nodded. Bull let himself be led to one of the side corridors, stopping Dorian's advance with a quick tug on his hand. Dorian spun, body fitting neatly into Bull's arms. He groused at the manhandling even while the crinkling of his eyes gave him away.

The twilight cast long shadows in the garden, reaching lengths of darkness that obscured them as Bull pressed Dorian to the inner keep wall.

"All that talk of Chantry stuff gave me ideas," Bull breathed the words against Dorian's neck, relishing the shudder that reverberated back to him from Dorian's entire self. Scarred lips nibbled Dorian's elegant neck, teeth brushing against the pulse points. The blood beneath pounded through his veins all the more fiercely as those teeth sunk in and those same lips sucked a bruise into being, deep purple against caramel brown. Dorian whined, shifting restlessly and getting nowhere at all as Bull's tongue lathed over the bruise. "What do you say 'Vint?"

"Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever," his voice was smooth as silk as he gave his best challenging smile to his lover, all quirked lips and devastating smirk.  
The Bull's answering grin was wicked indeed.

"Not all who wander are lost, kadan," the Bull retorted, hearing the canticle for what it was. Dorian barked a surprised laugh that fell quickly to a breathless huff as Bull dipped just enough to slide his big hands under Dorian's thighs. Bull lifted him up and spirited him backwards, forcing Dorian to grab onto his harness to stay balanced. Again he fussed and again, he meant it not at all.

Several steps brought them into a small room lit gently by dozens of candles and the sunset, the smell of incense and smoke gentle in the small space. Wiggling into a better position as Bull nudged the Chantry's door closed, Dorian kissed his way northward until he could nibble on one pointed ear.

"In your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame, all-consuming and never satisfied," he breathed. The original intent of the verse was more dirge than anything but the words fit his purposes. He shivered in anticipation as his back pressed to the stone wall.

"Mmmm, sounds about right," Bull hummed, approving. The poetic cadence sounded fantastic in Dorian's dulcet tones, clipped just right to sound lascivious. "You _are_ insatiable." Dorian's breathy laugh was payment enough, nevermind the rolling of his hips against Bull's own. "Trying to convert me?"

"Not hardly," Dorian's chuckle was low and mischievous as his clever fingers flitted across the buckles and straps on his robes. "Woo you, perhaps. Impress you, most certainly." Bull rocked their hips together and Dorian swallowed a groan at the contact. "Most pointedly, I am trying to get you to get on with it." Fingers that were deft despite their size peeled Dorian's robe away, leaving the fabric pinned behind his back as a barrier between his skin and the chill of the stone. " _I want you_ ," Dorian said it quietly, reverently, and Bull shuddered a little at the weight of it. "Defiling the Chantry is simply fortuitous consequence."

Bull trailed one digit down the center line of Dorian's abs, ringing his navel and sliding lower to trace the line of tight leathers from hip to hip. The touch was teasing, a shade too light, tempting and tortuous. Dorian told Bull as much with a whine, clutching his legs around the Bull's waist as his warm hands slid lower. Dorian gave as good as he got as the Bull petted, kissing and nipping and mapping every inch of the Bull he could reach.

Bull finally cracked to his man's murmured pleadings, both of them hard. He slipped a hand into the pocket of those miserable trousers and retrieved a small bottle of oil, grinning as Dorian used the break in the action to grind down against him. He waggled the bottle at Dorian, a suggestion; Dorian surged upward and kissed him fiercely, heels digging into the Bull's ass. Bull gave Dorian's a swift smack in retaliation as he squirmed away, tugging at his boots.

This was familiar even if the setting was not. The rest of their clothing fell abandoned, tossed to the solitary pew that had been built near the base of Andraste's shrine. The candles bathed the room in wane, flickering gold as the sun sunk low, bathing the room in blackness at the edges. Naked together they stayed in the light, flesh pressed against flesh and content to paw and to touch, to kiss and to taste.

Dorian whimpered as the Bull positioned him, hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth expanse of the statue's front as one of Bull's fingers slipped inside him, tugging and teasing and toying with the taut ring of muscle. The stone was cool beneath his fingers and toes, stark against the heat welling in the pit of his stomach. Dorian felt the hand behind his knee before his left leg rose, held firmly by the Bull. A long moment of stretching and second finger joined the first, spreading him wider.

"Bull, _kaffas_." Dorian's breath broke on a chest-deep moan; Bull leaned into him, comforting warmth and blistering heat all at once. A frisson of lust shot down his spine at another thrust of well-aimed fingers. " _Maker_ , Bull, there!"

The preparation was thorough and practiced, from Bull's drawn-out teasing to Dorian's pleading in Tevene. A third finger, more pleading, and when the Bull thought he was ready Dorian was released. 

"Ever the gentleman," Bull rumbled affectionately as soft skin stroked against his own. Dorian ran his hands up Bull's naked back, kissing and whispering as he went, pressing his lips to a lifetime's worth of stories. He snuck one hand to the front as he pressed himself flush to the bigger man. Clever fingers fondled heavy balls, the kiss of frost and fire at his fingertips. Dorian fell to his knees at the Bull's feet then, relishing the Bull's low groan. A supplication, and he served. With lips and tongue and the whisper of magic he served, worshipping at the Bull's alter rather than to the stone behind him.

The first time, Dorian cried the Maker's name as Bull laughed, toes curling as he braced himself on the small steps. The Bull followed him after, cock unrelenting as he thrust into Dorian's still-clenching passage, milking the mage's aftershocks for all they were worth. They stayed a moment, stone warm beneath them now, the smell of sandalwood in the air offset by the scent of sweat.

Deliciously debauched, Bull eased his weight from his bad knee, holding his weight over his panting mage with a grin.

"Think you've got another round in you?" To which Dorian laughed breathlessly, sweeping his sweat-damp hair back with fingers that shook. In this he was beautiful, caramel skin sweat-damp and shimmering in the light.

"Egads, having the chance to fornicate not once but twice on the floor of a southern Chantry? The Black Divine would be disappointed in me if I didn't."

The second time was sweeter, slower, soft like their sighing as dusk stretched further into night. Dorian took all Bull had to give, their noises a chorus. After, The Bull perched Dorian on his lap and praised, made certain Dorian knew the words as truth. When he came it was it a cry and Bull's name, not the Maker's, on his lips.

The third, the Bull thrust into him, time and again, rhythm relentless, his breath hot against Dorian's ear and the wood of the pew straining beneath them. When they were done, spent and shaking, Dorian pulled the Bull down to sit and slumped against him, idly twining their fingers together.

"Amatus," he whispered. It was a prayer and a promise, one the Bull heard. He kissed Dorian's hair under Andraste's upraised arms and was thankful.

A blessing for them both, certainly, and whence it came: unimportant.

**Author's Note:**

> Major shout-out to Cyber-Fairie for cheering me on thru feeling like hell physically as well as how this freaking fic was going!
> 
> Also upon reflection? Not sexy. WTF, me. T^T


End file.
